When someone
named it the Pyrocene Period, we were already walking with fire extinguishers
and wearing plastic sunbonnets. Modest was less a description unless someone
was clothed in asbestos. The best job was firefighter because they were our truth
tellers. Arsonist was the first word that children sounded out. There was a
picture of a hooded person with a match or was that Johnny Storm? I first
encountered fire when my parents burned Christmas paper in the fireplace. Then,
when my brother, like a weak Prometheus started a fire under the sunporch.
Fireman came to school and told us to make maps to escape our homes. What did
they know? What dread, like some frightening prophecy at Fatima. Were they
piece meal the children of property owners? There were red boxes on almost
every street corner begging to be broke. But like a bad wish the fire department
would arrive, to scold or fulfill their obligation. We brought our preschool
children to the fire station. These guys will save us. As if written on the
backs of their jackets. The weather before Pyrocene had wildfires in the
western part of the state. The big fires were east or north in Canada. They had
crews that sometimes went over the pass to help or was it to keep the fire on
that side of the state. They did not call it the smoke season when it began but
that’s what summer became. Like my parents second hand smoke from Kent regulars
or dad rolling his own, I was sure I had a remnant deep in my lungs soon to be
activated in the Fumcene Period. The sky, unwanted fog, warm with a red, sun
lingered. I begged for wind, the dregs of the bag Odysseus companions released,
to clear the air. Forecasting like an oracle gone amok, could not tell, only
amuse the muses. Some religious groups were created during this time. Getting
right with fire was a worthy prayer. My upbringing of promulgation had a
sacrament around fire; a descending tongue upon the confirmed. The slap from
the bishop was truly the outward sign. Fire stolen could never be returned. The
flood was the mean standard. Noah the ark and water were an unbreakable triad.
A world destroyed by fire would have no ravens or doves returning. Who would do
forty days in a lake of fire? Gather what one can, and elevate fire ants to
assemblyman. You see the shift. I will not be around for this insane intensity
of belief, to worship fire or keep the flame burning long after the oil is
gone. Fire must be equal in mountain scorching and city blaze and the word
“blame” must be bantered about till no one cares. Survival will be the highest
calling. Fireman knew, but only just. Rampant flames have their say. I had to
let die that someone would come along with a solution. The gods of money and
untruth tilted the scale towards the planets doom. And we were trained to duck
and cover from nuclear attack.
